Author's Note: I'm sorry that I'm not sorry about this hot mess. I had an incredible time writing it, and I'm going to keep it going because it brings me joy of a ridiculous kind. So far this universe gets a lot of exposition and then focuses really small on Lothiriel (Lottie) and the troubles of Gondor (Grind-or Die! Coffee shop)
Things to know: I fucked around with the names because of reasons.
Isildur is now a badass lady.
There's some really terrible name puns in here, and also some hardcore nerd references. Let me know if you catch any! If you have any questions feel free to message me or comment below. I really appreciate comments. If anyone is interested in being a beta reader, let me know!
Grind-or Else! Not to be confused with Grindr, thank you very much, was one of the best coffee shops in all of Middling-Town. It's only competition came from Ride on Mate: Tea and Coffee house, with whom they had a friendly if adversarial relationship and after all, with a name that long, (Grind-or staff joked) they could have made three Americanos before you even finished saying it. Ride-on staff rightfully pointed out that their baked goods were better, however, and Grind-or simply couldn't compete with the lamingtons and scones at Ride-on, which wasn't fair exactly because with a staff of almost all Australians, with their blonde hair, sexy accents, and love of butter, it stood to reason that it would be hard to compare. The Manager at Grind-or, Denny, was afraid of the trans-fats in butter and had heard that sugar caused cancer, so the baker at Grind-or could only use coconut oil, honey, and at least half of the baked goods had to be gluten free. It was a tough gig, and one shared equally between Denny's two sons, Boromir (affectionately nicknamed Bro) and Faramir, (less affectionately called Farry by his father).
There were other shops, to be sure. If you knew where to look there was Halfway Pub, a hidden gem filled with truly charming people who undercharged and overcompensated for those who had been coming for years, though they had a rather deep mistrust of tourists. There was also Dally-on, which served lovely home-made food which tasted fresh and was often organic. They had dealt with some devastating fires in recent years, but were ably managed by a man named Bard who seemed always to get them back on track in the end. For the richer folks, River had delicate, perfect macarons and croissants. Their treats were often a sign of special occasions and everyone knew that it was a wedding of particular elegance where the cake came from there. Greenswood was an all vegetarian eatery, rather pricey for the working class but not always out of reach. Their smoothies in particular were incredible after a good work-out, and considering that the level of 'up your arse-ness' was quite low, there was a good relationship between Greenswood and the other shops around. Light was the pinnacle of the higher level restaurants. It was run by Gally, who was so lovely that their business never ran out of customers. Reservations were absolutely required for Light up to years in advance, and if you could get in, then you could expect to be treated like royalty. Some of the more jealous folks said that Light wasn't even a real restaurant but a front for some illicit business. There was a reason why they were exclusive and these folk were it.
Ranger food trucks were popular in Middling-Town, though they had been dwindling since the lovely summer months. Their food was simple and quick and popular with the office folk who simply couldn't handle another hot dog before returning to their offices. Mist and Mount, Blue Mount, and Lonely Hill were run by tough, hairy men who believed in 'Real food' which mostly meant meat, potatoes, beer and a vegetable. Not multiple vegetables. One. They were all distantly related somehow or the other but insisted that their restaurants were not a chain. Chain restaurants were not welcome in Middling-Town. They were not welcome at all. For a while Lonely Hill had belonged to a terrible dragon of a man who wore alligator skin shoes and who enjoyed going over his assets in meetings that seemed to last an age. No one knew what had happened to this man, but found one day that Lonely Hill had a banner that proclaimed "Back under old management." and that was that. No one missed that man with his endangered species clothing.
Middling-Town, in actuality was named Middleton, but as it rested comfortably between the larger city of Newmarket, and the smaller cove of Davenport, it's residents were quite happy to pretend that they had chosen to name their frankly innocuous town after it's own harmless nature. Besides, it's not like Middling-Town was all that small. It spread quite wide actually, with long country roads between and a bustling town-center. If you went too far South-East you would end up in Mall-Town. This was where the incredibly rich and soulless lived and most of the Middling-Town folks didn't go here. Mall-town was run by a developer named Sam Ron, who had a disconcerting habit of buying cheap land out from under the struggling folks of Middling-Town and developing it into corporate businesses, or high rise condos. He wanted to see Middling-Town turned into a city of his making, and all of Mall-Town seemed under his control. Rumor had it, that his great, great, great grandfather had tried to claim all of Middling-Town hundreds of years ago, and establish himself as both Mayor and Owner. (This, it was rumored had happened with gold the man had gotten from a gold-rush somewhere in a different part of the world). The people of Middling-Town had fought to keep their land, and somewhere in the struggle Issy, (One of the founders of Grinding Pub as it had been back then) had gotten hold of the deeds to the land and hidden them away. No, not burned them as she ought to have done, but they were hidden and before she could tell anyone where they had gone, a heart attack got her.
Nowadays, the newspapers were filled with rumours of a new coup by the current Samuel Ronald Gorthaur III, and yes, Middling-Town was always filled with his little minons. Realtors who were always just running this way and that, measuring things and writing things and always, always, always refusing to tip. Everyone in Grind-or, Ride-On, Halfway, River, Greenswood, Light, Dally-on, Ranger's trucks, Mist and Mount, Blue Mount, and Lonley Hill agreed. Sam Ron's Realtors were the worst, and serving them was an injustice that must be corrected. Word got around that there was a particular server from Halfway Pub who had gotten hold of those deeds, and that a whole slew of service workers were helping him. No one quite knew which server it was who had managed to hold tight to such dangerous documents, and Halfway's employment records were foggy at best and wildly inaccurate at worst. Plus, four employees had all left at once, claiming that they needed to have an 'epic road trip' so they could be disregarded, but no other workers had called in sick.
Greenswood had an assistant manager nicknamed Legs, who had volunteered to assist. In a shocking turn of events, Gimsly, from Greenswood's rivals Lonely Hill had also agreed to help. The company was rounded out by Argo whose claim to fame was running a whole Ranger truck by himself (and so he was not famous in the way that a celebrity is), Gandler, who served as a business consultant all over Middling-Town and was well regarded, and Bro from Grind-or.
Indeed, very important things were happening in all of Middling-Town and everyone was in quite the uproar...
And they had all come to Grind-or to discuss it. Loudly.
Lottie was at the till which was her least favourite place to be. She much preferred to be making drinks, that is to say that sometimes she got stuck doing the breakfast sandwiches, which got lonely in the back but only lasted for half a shift, and since Bro had left, she had been training to be a baker with Farry, which was much harder than anyone made it look, but if she was given a choice she would always choose to surround herself with milk stains and espresso grinds. Honestly, there was a sense of meditation when she was on the Cap machine. She didn't have to interact much with customers unless she wanted to, other than yelling out their order and that was just fine by her. Lottie was the best on the cap machine, everyone said so. It was because she only ever worked on one steamer's worth of milk at a time and she had the fascinating ability to sense just when the milk would be at it's optimal temperature, while juggling three shots for an Americano ('No we cannot make boiling water extra hot, that's not how water even works"), and reading ahead for the next three drinks. She alone cared for latte art, and she alone refused to use sugar-free syrup because it tasted awful. Her father, Imrob, was a local roaster and the sole supplier for Grind-or which is probably how Lottie got the job to begin with, and why none of the more senior employees would kick her off the Cap machine. She had coffee in her veins both figuratively and literally. Shifts started at 5:00am to open, and Lottie considered a double espresso to be breakfast and a mocha to be special breakfast. She required both.
This is not to say, of course that Lottie always got to be on the Cap machine. Making the drinks was the best part of the job for almost anyone, and she had been reprimanded twice that morning for seeing a customer at the till waiting to be served and blatantly ignoring them to attend to cleaning out the milk jugs. It drove her co-workers crazy, and in punishment they continually blocked her from doing anything other that standing fast by the cash register and manning a line that went to the door and refused to shrink any smaller, even once all the chairs and tables had been filled, turned over, and then filled again. For once, no one complained about the small mountain of crumbs that had been left from previous customers and simply swept them to the ground (along with the butt of the muffins that toddlers had drooled over and dumped and the sticky remains of spilled frapuccinos.) Lottie silently thanked the coffee gods for putting her on an opening shift where she wasn't responsible for making sure the store was clean enough for the next morning, it looked like it would take an extra few hours tonight.
Farry was on Cap Machine when it happened that one of Sam Ron's realtors came in, complained loudly through the whole long line up, started talking on the phone just as they got to the till and help up a single finger when Lottie tried to ask their order. "Just give me a second. Can't you see I'm on the phone?" It wasn't polite or apologetic, the realtor didn't move out of the way, suddenly the whole bustling atmosphere of the shop came to a sudden halt, and this one obnoxious man was to blame.
Lottie felt her face get hot. She couldn't tell if it was frustration, anger or the embarrassment of being spoken to like that, sometimes in the service industry your emotions became hard to tell apart because they all had to be bitten down behind a gracious smile. Sometimes her chest felt like it held a melting pot inside of it, "Sir- I really do have to ask you to-"
"Be quiet, this is important." The man snapped, his eyes meeting hers with a force of rage and disdain that sent Lottie a step back, feeling like she had been slapped. She took a second to find her ground again and looked over the man's head to the next customer, asking in the sweetest voice she had in her arsenal what she could get the woman. With a snarl the man extended his hand across the woman's chest as if to block communication between them and glared at Lottie, "Don't be a bitch. I'll be done in a second. What kind of shop is this?" That was it, she couldn't handle this. Lottie looked over to Farry helplessly. He wouldn't let someone speak to her like that, right?
Farry had a gentle soul. Both brothers of Grind-Or did, but Bro's had been a bit better hidden. His had been padded by rugby muscles and charisma, a talent for always saying just exactly what anyone needed to hear. Farry was different. He had a softer way of speaking, he always seemed to want a response and while discussions with him were wonderful and tended to last far longer than one had allotted time for, when he was called to attend to disputes, he tended to grit his teeth, softly agree and try to finish the fight before it even became one. He came over to stand by Lottie, and something in him rose to the surface. Farry crossed his arms, "Sir. You cannot speak to our employees like that. Please leave the premises."
Lottie could have sworn that she saw the man's eyes go red with rage. Finally he clicked away the phone call and drew himself up to his full height. "What?"
Farry stepped in front of Lottie, "I said, leave. We have a line-up and a store full of people that you are disrupting. You spoke rudely to an employee of this shop, we reserve the right to deny service to anyone within our shop, and I am using that right to deny you service. It's time to leave."
"Do you know who I am?" Farry and Lottie looked at each other, then back to the man. The only thing of note about him was a large ring on a his finger and perhaps the Nazgul brand Ferrari keys he was holding in his other hand. Both of them shook their heads, though Lottie piped up helpfully.
"An arse-hole?"
Farry knew that was too far and pushed Lottie towards the Cap machine, effectively telling her to shut up and do something useful where you can't offend people while I try to fix this.
"I can ruin you with a single phone call."
This couldn't be Mr. Angmar, could it? Lottie peeked over the stack of coffee cups and looked closer. On his billboards, Mr. Angmar had less wrinkles and a flawless photo-shopped face. She had always thought his smile looked like he ate small puppies for breakfast, but this was something else entirely. His anger transformed his features into something dangerously real and truly ugly. "I pictured you taller." She informed him over the different sized take-out containers.
"Mr. Angmar." Farry was faltering, "I'm sure this is a misunderstanding. Perhaps we can arrange a meeting at a different time when we're not so-"
"Oh, don't worry." The man's voice came out as a growl, "You'll certainly be hearing from me."
Finally he stormed from the shop, and air seemed to stream back into the room. Everyone took one deep, collective breath and suddenly the bustle was back. Lottie finished the drinks waiting on the list, and went to check on the brewing coffee. Still shaken, she didn't realize the brewing was in progress and she got boiling water and grinds all over her right hand and her apron. She shrieked in pain, turning on the faucet and letting the cool water stream over her bright red skin.
"What's going on?" Fuck... Denny was a competent manager most of the time, and he was Lottie's uncle, but that didn't mean that she particularly liked being around him ever. Farry turned around for a moment, then called the girl in the kitchen to come to the till and pulled another staff member from inventory to handle the drinks.
"Lot, did this just happen?"
Lottie, who did not handle pain particularly well and was not having a particularly great morning, all things considered, sent him a sharp look. "I certainly wasn't waiting for the least opportune moment to tend to it."
"Never mind that." Denny handed Lottie some paper towel absentmindedly, which Lottie did not appreciate. She thought everyone should very much mind that she might be scarred forever from her stupid coffee shop job. "What was that mess with Mr. Angmar? Did he come to complain about the muffin crumb again?"
Farry shook his head, indicating they should all move somewhere more private which none of them did, "No. He had an issue with Lottie, he was holding up the line and talking on his cell, but when she tried to get him to order or wait aside, he called her a bitch. I tried to get him to leave the store, but he just said he'd be in contact. I didn't realize-"
Denny's face pulled Farry up short. He looked livid, which Lottie thought was incredibly unfair, seeing as he had been sitting comfy in his office while the rest of them worked, and also because Mr. Angmar was a grade A bastard and Farry had behaved very well, once you took that into consideration. "Of course you didn't. Boromir always managed to keep the peace between us and those vultures, and in one day you manage to get them braying for our blood. One day. Incredible."
"Uncle!" Lottie took her hand out from under the water, but almost instantly the skin began to smart again, and she shoved the whole limb back under the tap. "It's not Faramir's fault. We've been losing customers to those monsters every single week. You know they made up the rumor that we were going under. Even Boro-"
"And you." Her uncle turned on her without notice, as had become a disconcerting new habit of his. "Uniform? Does not adhere to dress code. Customer interaction? Does not adhere to strict company policy. General personal manner and work ethic: poor. Lothiriel, go home. You're suspended without pay for the rest of the week and when you return we will discuss improvements or you will be dismissed. Good day."
Lottie looked down at her oversized jean overalls. True, the crop top she wore under them did not follow dress code... and technically the fact they were cut off shorts was playing hard and fast with the 'No shorts' rule by ignoring it entirely, but no one had ever actually read the staff manual end to end and absolutely no one actually followed the dress code. "Fine." She felt herself grow cold, "But imagine if you actually meant that. Imagine if you actually fired me. Oh... it's so unflattering when your face goes red like that Uncle, but please, bear with me for a moment while I walk you through this scenario. I know how logical you like to think you are."
"Lotti-" Farry was obviously desperate for this whole interaction to be over, and he alone of the three of them seemed to realize that they were in public view. Sam Ron's little minions always seem to leave discord in their wake. That was their mark.
"Oh no." Lottie was on a roll now, and she wasn't much in the way of self preservation, "I have a scenario and we are all walking through it like we're at goddamn Disneyland. Hold your proverbial horses, Cuz." In her anger, Lottie forgot how much her hand hurt, and she turned off the tap and began to untie the apron around her waist. "You fire me. You are severely understaffed. Bro, Farry, and I are your only full time workers. Sure, you could hire someone else but by the time you train them to my level of competence, you will have wasted both time, effort, and money that we both know you cannot afford to waste at the moment. Furthermore, I am the only, I repeat, only one of your staff that understands the different between a flat white and a cappuccino and I will not hesitate to remind you that I train the newbies on their drinks and that I take Cap machine when everyone else gets overwhelmed. I am also well past the probationary period for firing on the spot, and you aren't even the owner of this establishment so, lets just see how that goes over and just to make it very clear how absolutely unimpressed with you I am, I will happily let you know that I will offer my services to Ride-on Mate without hesitation should you ever speak to me like that again. Do you understand, Uncle?"
"GET OUT." Lottie had never been truly afraid that her uncle might hurt her until that moment. His face had gone a dark shade of red that most people would associate with choking. His voice quite literally sounded like the depth of hell, and if she was not related by blood to this man, she would have fled like the very whips of that same hell were at her back. She glared at Denny and handed him her apron, then slowly and coldly she turned her back to him, (another thing he hated) and walked out the doors of Grind-or.
She probably shouldn't have mentioned the true owners of Grind-or. He hated that.